sw1mushfandomcom-20200215-history
RPlog:Simon the Zealot, Simon the Martyr
Personal Barracks - Karrde's Base - Myrkr The barracks for the base's residents are clean and comfortable without being either too austere or too luxurious. Like the other buildings in the complex, the barracks are panelled with dark woods with blue recessed lighting, with approximately one dozen unmarked doors on either side of the corridor. Windows on either end of the building allow cool, piney breezes to flow through during the day, adding to the ambiance. The Players: Simon Of average height and fair coloring, the young man before you has dark brown hair and eyes of a color somewhere between blue and gray. His hair is parted and cut short. His eyes are deep-set, looking more ready to draw his brow into a deep frown than a warm smile. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: intense. The man before you is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Currently, the man's hood is pulled up, concealing his face in shadows. With his back bowed slightly, either from a heavy weight or old age, it's difficult to tell the man's age. He might not even be human. Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough-hewn but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs. Time has become something that the Selas has found in abundance since coming to Myrkr. Most of that time has been in solitude, with his thoughts continuously invaded by the visage of Jessalyn. It was because of this that Simon decided to take up a new hobby. Walking into the barracks that had been assigned to he and Jessalyn, Simon carries with him the wooden staff he'd acquired a few days ago. A short knife is also in his hands. He stops part way through the door leading out and looks at the end of his staff with great interest. Strewn across the small bunk she has occupied are various small tools and instruments, and some telltale components of a half-completed device. Jessalyn herself sits in front of the mess, cross-legged, her face covered with her hands. She doesn't notice Simon's entrance, and remains in that almost fetal posture, her shoulders shaking. For a moment, Simon doesn't notice Jessalyn either, with his attention so focused on the end of his staff. He brings his right hand to where his eyes are focused and brushes away some woodchips, then blows on the carved wood. After that, he raises his eyes and notices Jessalyn, and nearly drops the knife and staff when he realizes that she's crying. Taking two quick steps to close the distance between he and she, he slows down and says, hesitantly, "Are you unwell, Jessa?" Embarrassed that she's been caught, Jessa takes a deep breath and lifts her head to see Simon as he approaches. Her eyes are bright like watery gems, but she shakes her head, trying to negate the tears, but to no avail. "I don't know what I've done wrong. I didn't want to bring harm to anyone, and I don't know how to fix it. I'm a terrible Jedi." These are the deepest fears which she keeps at bay every day of her life, the usual Jedi confidence undermined by uncertainties and isolation. Annoyed with herself, she wipes at her eyes and looks up at him sullenly. To look into Jessalyn's emerald eyes and see tears was painful near to the point of bringing tears to Simon's own eyes. It was a poignant reminder of how much his heart belonged to Jessalyn, now. Words come instantly to mind when Jessalyn's words finally register in Simon's mind. Perhaps she is a poor Jedi because she is better than they are. Perhaps she hurts people because she is a Jedi. In the state that Jessalyn is in now, these are things that Simon could never say. Slowly, he takes a seat next to the red haired woman, dragging his staff around so that the end that he'd worked is visible to her. A rose in full bloom is carved deeply into the hard wood, long stemmed and with thorns. Simon says, "You are a strong and beautful woman, that does not try to hurt others, Jessa. I carved this into my staff, to remind me of your strength and goodness." For a few seconds Jessalyn sniffles, turning her tear-filled eyes to gaze at the beautiful carving in the head of the staff, and she wipes at her eyes to clear her vision. When she does, she catches her breath with surprise. "Oh, how beautiful," she murmurs, reaching with one hand to touch the carved petals. "I wish I was those things. I'm very touched that you think of me that way, though." She smiles softly at him, trying to find his gaze even as her hand rests lightly on the staff's carving. Simon purses his lips thoughtfully. He draws in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly as he meets Jessalyn's gaze. Strength came from within, but it was hard to say this, or any other bit of wisdom he may have picked up without sounding condescending. He wanted to help Jessalyn, not push her away. "You can not see yourself as others see you," Simon says finally, trying to pick each word carefully. "Why is it that you think you have hurt people? What terrible wrong have you done that has brought you to mourning in this place?" Jessa glances down at her hand as she pulls the staff closer, wanting a better look. There is a long pause before she finally finds the words to explain. "Karrde was here before you came... His entire organization is at risk of destruction because of us. I came here to help, and I don't even know how to fix the damage I've already done. And now, I've ruined any chance of gaining his trust. He believes I'm totally inept." Swallowing hard, Jessalyn risks a glance at Simon, her brow furrowed. "Not exactly how you see me, I suppose," she says with a wry smile. "No, that is not how I see you," Simon says, but something in the way he stiffens suggests that something in her words has alarmed him. He continues, "You can not be held accountable for any of this, any more than a tree can be held accountable for growing on stony ground. You were pulled from your trap and cast to the winds of change, with little in the way of choices. It was the will of the True Source that the one called Orson should be there when we needed him, and that he should bring us to Talon Karrde. It was the will of the True Source that the Emperor Valak should find us where we communed with Talon Karrde and his group. By the will of the True Force, all will be set right. There is nothing that you should be blamed for." Simon, on the other hand... "Jessa, there is something that I must do. Two things, now. The first will not be easy, the second harder, but in a different way." Withdrawing her hand, Jessa folds her arms close against her body, as if steeling herself against the inevitable. Thinking she had control over her tears is a mistake, and she struggles, quickly blinking them back. "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" she says quietly, her voice resigned and without accusation. It's what she's come to expect from anyone she's ever dared to care about. Loneliness stabs at her heart, and she shoves her emotions cruelly aside. "I'm sorry... tell me, what is it you have to do?" Simon's left hand comes up to brush at the edge of his eyes. Stoic as he may be, he could only come to one conclusion from the acidic way that she'd accused him of preparing to leave her. Some of the feeling he had for her, she must share, despite all their differences. It was easier to say what he had to say, when he thought that she didn't care for him. "I... do... need to leave you," Simon says, slowly. "I do not want to, but I am the only one that can keep Talon Karrde and his group from being hunted down and killed by Emperor Valak. If you come with me, you will surely die, and I will follow you into the Last Embrace. If I go alone, I stand a chance, be it ever so small, to live to see you again. I pray that the True Source wills it." He pauses only long enough to swallow, then continues on in a voice even more grave. "That is one thing that I must do. The other..." He trails off, his courage faultering. Why should it be easier to face certain death than to speak his feelings to this woman? Stung, Jessalyn stares down at the floor, her knuckles whitening as she clenches her fists, fighting the urge to argue with him over his decision. There would be time for that; now, she would hear him out. "I'm listening," she urges quietly. Swallowing, Simon starts right in. "I have to tell you..." He falters as a number of possibilities come to mind. I have to tell you that I do not see you as a Jedi, I see you as a woman. I have to tell you that I can not stop thinking about you, despite all our differences. He forces himself to swallow once more, and finally says, "I have to tell you... because I may not have another chance... that I have fallen in love with you, Jedi Jessalyn Valios." "Then don't leave," Jessalyn pleads, turning to face him, eyes brimming with emotion. "We can find another way to make this up to Karrde. You don't have to sacrifice yourself to do it. The Emperor will either kill you, or turn you into a servant of the Dark Side. And then you will only see me as your enemy. I couldn't bear that, Simon." She touches his hand, squeezing his fingers with some urgency. If she had learned anything from being Luke Skywalker's student, it was that love was the seed that could destroy the Dark Side's stranglehold on one's soul. "Love isn't just a feeling, it's an experience. It will be destroyed if you go to the Emperor." This was the point where the stubbornness in both Simon and Jessalyn was going to measured. Gritting his teeth, Simon says, "Markus Lisardis and Mira both believe I have already turned to what you call the Dark Side. Do you yourself not withdraw for fear of something you sense within me? What, then, will the Emperor have to turn? "But that is a lot of if talk," Simon continues with barely a pause for a breath. "The truth... I can not think of you as an enemy. I should, knowing that you are a Jedi, but I do not. I do not believe that the Emperor will drive that from me, even if he is able to enslave me, which I do not believe he will." Of course, she knows that arguing with him is no use. He's as stubborn as she is, so Jessalyn spends a moment absorbing the implications of all this, of the inevitable future that was not going to have Simon a part of it. "Maybe you have," she concedes quietly, her expression somber. "And maybe I'm just blind. I just can't believe that love exists in a heart that's seduced to the Dark Side." Her fingers slide through his, and whatever reservations she's had about caring for someone so tainted slip away in the feelings that take over, and the assurance she has in her own mind that love is the true healing power in the universe. Again she squeezes his hand, green eyes searching his blue ones. Simon's heart pounds in his ears as Jessalyn takes his hand, her smooth skin soft against his rough. The flood of his own emotions, his need for her, his desire to press his advantage, wash over his thoughts. For a moment, his gaze leaves her eyes to linger on her lips. Would they taste sweet? Would she turn away if he bent to press his own to hers? Swallowing, gritting his teeth from the effort to maintain self-control, Simon gives Jessalyn's hand a squeeze before pushing himself to a standing position and taking two steps away. He drags his staff with him, turning his eyes to the carving of the rose once more. Watching his hand slip out of hers as he stands, Jessalyn impulsively rises after him, a soft cry coming from her throat. "Simon," is the only other sound she manages to peep out, touching the back of his arm. "Jessa, I can not fight you," Simon says. Odd words to come out of his mouth at this point, perhaps, spoken in the voice of a man that is at the end of his rope. He turns around to face her, and his expression is tense as his blue eyes search out the Jedi's green. A clatter sounds behind Simon as his staff hits the floor, and in the blink of an eye, his face looks suddenly calm, as if by final surrender. Closing the short distance between them, Simon raises both hands to cup Jessalyn's face as he gives in to the temptation he'd been fighting. Perhaps Jessalyn was right about love, in that it was the seed to draw someone back from the Dark Side. Perhaps Simon hungered for love for that reason, as a man might hunger for nutrients his body is severely lacking. Well before Simon's lips close on Jessalyn's, all thoughts of Jedi and Selas are lost. There is no thought... only the desire he'd surrendered to. Her lips tremble beneath his as Jessalyn yields to the kiss, though it takes a moment for her arms to react and slide around his waist, responding not just to her own intense feelings, but to his need, becoming a vessel for what she prays will be his redemption. Her heart pounds in her chest as the kiss deepens and their bodies press close, and she consciously tightens her arms around him to keep him near even when she finally leans back to gaze solemnly up at him. For a moment, as Simon tries to catch his breath, he wishes he had the extended feelings offered by a connection to the True Source. It made the moment bittersweet, in that the fulfillment of one strong desire lent strength to the suppressed other desire. In that moment, there was more than just the need to draw upon the True Source. He wanted to know that intimacy that Jessalyn had spoken of. He wanted to plunge within the waters of her soul, drowning himself in her essence until there was nothing left of his own. He wanted to sin, and to know the pleasures of it with this woman. The moment passes. He licks his lips and swallows before saying, "I need you to live, Jessa. When I go, you must not follow me. I will not be able to survive if you do not keep yourself safe." Jessalyn slowly nods her dark red head. "I will respect your wish," she whispers, ignoring the cringe in her heart at his decision. "I want you to survive." It's the truth, after all. She certainly doesn't think she is capable of striking him down should he prove to be an enemy. Shrinking back from that horrible image, she finds herself clinging to him as she closes her eyes, her voice trembling. "You better survive." Simon the Zealot, Simon the Martyr